Henrietta
by Raye
Summary: Dead by Dawn: Henrietta's POV.


  
She hadn't liked the look of that book from the first time she saw it in that dirty old castle. The work of the Devil, she was sure of it. Raymond had been working obsessively on its translation since they had gotten to the cabin. 

Henrietta stood stirring the soup over the stove top. Usually she found the cabin comforting, away from their busy college town. Usually. Now it seemed disturbingly quiet, secluded. She rolled her shoulders back and stretched her neck from side to side. She shuffled to the table and poured soup into the two bowls already on place mats. 

"Raymond!" she reached for the basket of crackers and bread and resisted the urge to follow with, "Soup's on!" Instead, she simply cried out, "You're dinner's going to get cold!" 

She sat down heavily at the table and waited a few minutes. _Where is that man?_ Her thoughts were cut off by the sound of her husband making his way slowly from the back room. She looked back over her shoulder to greet Raymond with a small admonishment, but managed only to stare mutely as he passed into the kitchen. A strange warmth rushed over her, surrounded her. Then a cold blast crashed through her. She felt torn apart before being slammed back together again. 

  


* * *

  
Henrietta looked up. Raymond was kneeling by the table, gently patting her face. "Henrie. Henrie, darling." She raised her head up groggily. "Raymond?" she mewled, "I don't feel well." 

"What happened, Henrietta? Are you in pain? You looked so strange and then you just fell over." 

She had. There was soup everywhere. Henrietta began to cry. "I don't know _ I was waiting for you and you just kept talking into that darn recorder _ and then I heard you coming _ and I was going to give you a piece of my mind _ Oh Raymond _ I don't want _ to stay _ here. Can we go? _ Please, can we go now?" 

"Henrietta, you know Annie will be here soon. We can't call her - no phone, remember? She'll be traveling anyway. Just a couple of days. I'm nearly done and Annie will bring the pages she found… we'll be ready for our presentation soon." 

Henrietta gave up. She always did. Raymond always got what he wanted. She had loved him for that reason, once. Annie. She was more like him everyday. 

"Now, Henrietta, why don't you go and lie down? I'll take my soup in and try and finish the last bit that's here. Annie could be here tomorrow. Then we can go." 

He always spoke to her like that now, as if she were one of his students, or worse, a child. Henrietta was too drained to care. She stood up to leave. Her husband was already on his way back to his desk. 

She stood at the bathroom sink washing the soup from her hair and face. She managed to rinse out her blouse. Hopefully, it wouldn't stain. She looked in the mirror and saw a tired, old woman. _When did I get so old?_ She missed the girl she had been. She had been like Annie… once. Somewhere along the way she'd lost herself. Now her hair was stringy, too many trips to the salon, her skin was loose, and wrinkles covered her face. She grimaced at the sight of skin hanging out over the sides of her bra. She ran a hand carelessly through her hair and tried to hold back the tears. She reached back to the door and unhooked her nightgown from the peg. _Don't think about it old girl. It's not worth it._

Henrietta could hear her husband making his notes into the recorder as sleep overcame her. 

  


* * *

  
Henrietta woke up with a scream stuck in the back of her throat. She felt as if someone, or something, were strangling her. She struggled to sit up, saw the empty space beside her, and tried to catch her breath. She was still exhausted. She looked around the room and noticed the light streaming out from beneath the door. He was still up. _Damn it!_ She pushed herself up off the bed and stumbled for the door. Her anger built as she made her way toward the study. _How DARE he still be there, working._ He knew she wasn't well, that she didn't even want to be here, and yet he left her alone in that room. Rage consumed her. She couldn't hold it back. She thought that she had become an expert at holding her emotions back after all these years. GOD, she was PISSED! As soon as she opened the door and saw him there, pouring over that DAMN book, she exploded. 

"RAYYYmond! What the HELL are you doing?" 

Her husband looked up, shocked and confused. Henrietta barely noticed. All she could see was red. 

"WELL?" 

"Henrietta?" he asked in a small voice. 

She saw his mouth working, but heard nothing but the dull roar pounding through her. 

Hands reached out and grabbed the ceremonial knife from his desk. 

(Her hands.) 

Hands raised the knife up over her head. 

(Her hands.) 

Raymond managed to avert the deadly thrusts of the knife. He grabbed at the hands… 

(Her hands.) 

and forced them open. The knife fell to the floor. 

Henrietta didn't hear the thud it made as it hit the wooden floorboards. She saw hands grabbing for her husband's throat. 

(Her hands.) 

_What am I doing?_

That was Henrietta's last rational thought. 

  


* * *

  
She felt strangely light, as if she were floating, but she couldn't actually 'feel' her body. She tried to look around, but she had no neck to turn, no eyes to see. She could sense, could 'see' in a way. Like in a dream, when she knew what had happened, but she hadn't actually 'seen' anything. This was similar, but this… this was a nightmare. She couldn't 'feel' the fear, no goose bumps, no hair standing on end, no racing heart beat. But the fear was there, everywhere. 

She 'felt' as if she were part of a starry night sky; a shimmering bit in the midst of darkness. Alive, aware, but not solid. Oh yes, if you traveled very far you could get to where she had been. Somewhere deep in the darkness she had once taken on a solid form, but now she was nothing, a glimmer of something that once was. 

Then it came, the warmth, the frigid cold blast, the tearing apart. Once again she was slammed back to reality, to horror. It was cold, damp. It was the fruit cellar. Raymond was standing over her. He was leaning on a shovel. Dirt, sweat, and anguish covered his face. 

"Oh Henrie, Henrie. I'm sorry… so sorry." 

He picked it (her) up gently and placed it (her) into the shallow grave he had finished. The dirt covered the body (her body). 

All this she saw and heard from a distance, but she sensed something else as well; it wasn't over. Something still held her tethered to the thing she'd become. It wasn't over. 

_Raymond. It's not enough, Raymond._

The grave was filled. She was covered in darkness. 

  


* * *

  
The veil lifted. She could hear herself, nearly her old self, trying to sing sweetly to Annie. 

"If that diamond ring turns brass, Mama's going to buy you a looking glass. Remember that song Annie? I used to sing it to you when you were a baby." 

_Oh dear God, Annie. Don't listen. Don't believe it…me. Why did you have to come here?_

"Mother?" 

"Unlock these chains. Quickly!" 

_Annie, no don't. It will kill you. I will kill you_

"No!" 

"You were born September 2nd, 1962. I remember it well, because it was snowing. So strange it would be snowing in September." 

_You were such a beautiful baby... Don't listen. Don't listen._

"That thing in the cellar is not my mother." 

_Good girl, Annie, good girl._

The rage built once more as she saw Raymond's colleague, Ed, transform into one of the beasts she knew she was now. In the distance, faintly, as if in a dream, she could hear: 

"Dead by Dawn! Dead by Dawn! Dead _" 

but then, once again, Henrietta was lost. 

  


* * *

  
She wasn't alone. There were others here, nowhere. Impressions came to her; some were young, some old. There were many. How long had this been going on? What 'was' going on? How old was that book? That book. Book of the dead. Who in their right mind would want anything to do with such a thing, something called Book of the Dead? Raymond had been obsessed with his translation of it. Right mind? Possessed? How many more would join them? 

_Dear Annie, hold on. Take care. Be strong._

  


* * *

  
"Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Mama's going to buy you a mock_ mockingbird." 

Henrietta could hear her little girl singing. Her 'little' girl. She could see her standing there. She looked so small. She was terrified. 

(Terrified of her.) 

The man was trying to kill it (her). She willed it (herself) to be still. 

_God, let him kill it… me, please, let him kill me_

Pain. So much Pain. The screeching coming from her mouth, a bastardized version of her own voice: 

"Hey! I'll swallow your soul! I'll swallow your soul! I'll swallow your soul!" 

Then… sweet nothing. 

Henrietta died, for the second, final time. 

  
The End 

  
Evil Dead II: Dead by Dawn is ©1987 Rosebud Releasing Corp.   
©1999 Raye - This story is not to be sold/used for profit. Copies must include all disclaimers and copyright notices. 


End file.
